Trouble
by The Frisky Firelily
Summary: Jayne always knew the Tams would be trouble, especially the girl. But is she worth it? Spoilers for BDM and the series.


**TITLE: **Trouble

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own nuthin'.

**A/N: **I should probably be working on Seven Deadly Sins but this just seemed to happen...please let me know what you think!

You knew there was something wrong there from the beginning. You knew they should have listened to you, should have lost the girl and her brother whenever they had the chance. You knew she'd be more trouble than she was worth.

But no one listened, so all you could do was watch. And wait. You studied her those first few months. Out of the corners of your eye you watched her float like a little ghost around the ship, screaming like a banshee when the nightmare's overtook her psyche.

You watched her drag that knife over your chest with her depserate eyes and strong hand, watched her face as you backhanded her across the room. The scar still stings and tingles sometimes, especially when she looks at you with those oversized brown eyes.

You watched those eyes as she woke up from her death sleep on Ariel, you noticed them sparkle and glimmer as she smiled and spoke her strange request. You weren't sure if she was offering the copper or the kiss that day. Still aren't. You watched those eyes look proudly as her brother saved that man, and you thought for a second she actually _was_ a girl. Not just a child, or a psycho, but a girl.

You watched those eyes fill with terror and fear, and you felt the sting of your own betrayal like a knife in your gut. For the briefest moment you wondered why you cared that the girl was scared, before shutting the thought away before it could cause any more trouble.

Weeks later, as her brother worked over your paralyzed body and delivered his calm promises, you wondered what those eyes would look like if she knew. You found out only moments later, her creepy, even stare as she calmly threatened you death by cranium was enough to fill your nightmares for weeks.

Only they weren't all nightmares. Specially after she started drawing quietly at the table while you polished your guns. Never asking a million questions, just drawing quietly. Your birthday came and went, you never told the crew when it was and nobody'd ever asked, but you found that folded up drawing on your bed. You'd stuck it up on the wall of your room, just because Vera was a damned fine gun even broken down like in the drawing. Not because it was the first present you'd gotten from someone who weren't your Ma. Not because it was from her. That night when you'd dreamed she'd been there, passing you another drawing. It looked like a couple but you couldn't make out the faces. She'd smiled and planted a kiss on your cheek. You woke up in a cold sweat.

Her curtain of hair hid her face the next day but you thought you saw the glimpse of a shy smile as she sat and drew. You'd thought about saying thank you out loud but the thought had been chased away just as quickly when her brother had come in looking for her later. You thought maybe she didn't mind, that maybe she knew already.

Watching the girl like a predator studying it's prey may have started out as a good idea, but every now and then you began to wonder who the prey really was. When noticing her crazy fits got replaced by noticing that her new blue dress fit her too damn well you started to wonder. When watching in case she got her hands on another knife turned into watching her gracefully move across the cargo bay you started to wonder. When you started thinking on her as a cat, all delicate movement and graceful, sinuous gesture you started to wonder why you were still watching her so damn close.

You gave yourself excuses. _She's crazy_, was the most often used, followed closely by _I don't trust her_. Occasionally a _just looking out for crew_ would pop in but when that happened you always wondered if that meant you wanted to protect the crew from her or if you were including her as crew. Then your head would start hurting and you'd curse the gorram witch for making you think this damn hard.

You figured it out at the Maidenhead. You'd heard the ruckus before Mal had pointed out the cause, and you knew you'd never been more aroused in your whole damn life. Little she-cat was tearing through bar patrons like hell fire. Never off balance, always centered, every blow was calculated and lethal, no a movement was wasted and yet the damn girl made it look like some kind of intricate dance. Her brother had said that once, said that she loved to dance, you hadn't thought much of it. But this was one dance you were desperate to be a partner in, and as you moved across the room you wondered if you ever could.

Heavy movements slammed patrons away from you as you approached her, their angry shouts or crunching bones still failing to break your stare on the girl. You could watch this forever, could do this forever. When you'd finally grabbed her, against your will but knowing Mal's intention to shoot, you'd tried to get some recognition. Your eyes bugged right outta your head when she grabbed your crotch, and you briefly wondered why you were still aroused, before she knocked you out with the drinks tray.

Now your every gorram thought is filled with that scene, and you're watching Mr Universe's security footage over and over again. Just studying the enemy, you tell yourself. These ruttin' Tams have always been way more trouble than they're worth.

And now here's the proof. Kaylee's been shot with poison darts, Wash has a gorram tree through his chest, Simon's been hit, the Captain has run off to be a Big Damn Hero and Zoe...well you don't wanna think about the scars that Zoe's likely to have now.

So what does the girl do? She runs through the gorram blast doors. The last thing you see from your front row seat to carnage are those skinny arms reaching out. Nothing you can do, you know you can't move fast enough, not with the gorram chunk that last bullet took out of your leg.

So your mind stays on the girl, in there, battling those hellish monsters. You hate that this was the way she'd go out, after all that pain, all that torture, all that madness, this was how that poor kid was gonna die. Never getting to get drunk or kiss a boy. And you hate the part of your mind that you know is feeling sorry for yourself. Because you'd grown used to watching the girl, even with all the damn trouble, and you wish you'd done something more about it. The girl...no, not a girl. A woman. She'd jumped through those doors knowing exactly what was waiting on the other side, and she'd done it to protect them. That made her pretty gorram adult in your mind.

You felt ashamed at where your thoughts travelled, to the more adult ideas you had about the girl. More and more over the last few months. And not just about sexin', but other stuff too. Her smile, the quiet comfort she provided, that all knowing stare of hers. All that girly go se.

And now this. You shake your head in anger, no. This can't be it. This can't be the way she goes. You can't sit by while she goes out at their hands. You've got one bullet, the one in the LeMat, the one you always hold back for yourself just in case. That's hers now, she's earnt it. You're standing as the Captain enters, his question regarding River's whereabouts making the remaining crew blink back tears.

You're about to head towards the blast doors and try to wrench them open when it happens on it's own. Those massive metal doors roll away and there she is, barely winded, in the middle of a room of death. Those grusome, massacred corpses scar themselves into your mind, but you don't regard the scene with disgust. You know your expression holds approval.

There she is, huge brown eyes focussed on them, on her crew, awaiting their judgement. Showing herself, thin, pale, bloody and ready to fight on. Her eyes don't quite reach your own. She is displaying herself. Showing them everything she is and waiting, almost braced, for the next blow. Braced for rejection. The back wall blows out and you watch the light illuminate everything behind, wondering for a second if the Shepherd might have been right about those things he called angels.

This one is dark and bloody and fierce as they come and you know you're longing to follow her into the next battle head first. When the Operative orders the Feds to lower their weapons her eyes finally lock onto yours and you know then exactly why you've been watching, waiting.

You don't think, just act, and as you cross the room full of bodies your strides grow longer until you're finally in front of her. She drops her blades as you drop your gun and then suddenly she's there, wrapping her legs around your hips as you lift her up to your chest, one hand tangling in brown curls slick with sweat and blood, the other gripping her ass. As you pull her mouth to yours, noting how she tastes of blood and cherries, you realize you haven't kissed a woman in years. This is nothing like you remember. This is hot, painfully seductive, and you feel your whole world rushing out of you. Your mind goes blank except for one thought, repeating itself over and over louder and louder.

_Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine._

You surrender everything to those soft pink lips and you feel her move against, feel her own surrender as clear and sharp as the nails she digs into your shoulders. Finally, knowing you need oxygen, you break the kiss, looking down at the slender girl in your arms and seeing a whole damn universe that you never knew existed.

Her eyes widen just as you hear the click of Mal's revolver.

You keep your eyes on hers, smirking before shaking your head.

"Worth it."

**A/N: **Just needed to be written for some reason, I _think_ that this is a one-shot, but you never know. Feedback is like air.


End file.
